A Crazy Little Thing Called Deja Vu

Love is lovelier the second time you mistake it.

Henry entered the Star Wars Bar with his hands full.  In his dominant right, he held the sticky note epiphany he would quote to Sheena.  The weaker left hand shook with the menacing Ruby.  His stomach would not cooperate for long so he planned to quickly lead with his epiphany and end with his lead, in the way redneck Virgil had earlier intended for his beloved.

Sheena, cleaning glassware at  the bar, looked up expectantly.  When she saw the revolver, he froze.  Stepping around the bar, his lover charged him like a drill sergeant.  At arms length, Sheena drew back her left arm and slapped Henry with inhuman strength.  He had the snot literally slapped out of him – his left ear careening and almost touching his shoulder.

Flustered.  Henry’s neck tried to assume its former and natural alignment.  That pulsinng left hand pushed and pointed its pistol parcel at the princess.  His memorized sentences, like his senses, shaken and stirred, poured silently forth from his lips along with his spittle.  The sticky note, still clinging to a single thumb,  before letting go; forsaking him; his left leaving him without words.  This bird would have to ad-lib his swan song.

“This revolver has three bullets in it,” said Henry.

“I know what you’re going to say,” replied Sheena.

Sheena reached out with her right hand and grabbed Henry’s gunned hand.  She pulled it towards her and rested it, pointed upward, under her left breast.

Henry was reminded of Sheena’s penchant of dressing for comfort.

Her frightening left arm raised.  Henry flinched.  She moved it slowly but deliberately this time.  The hand fell gently, lovingly on Henry’s ear.  But it seemed to grow angry as the unvarnished nails dug into his scalp and began to pull his head down hard but towards comfort.  Simultaneously, her right hand covered his left.  Her thumb spooned against his trigger finger, with each conflicting digit seeming to await the resistant head’s descent.

Looking down into the hand gun’s cylinder,  Sheena confirmed its brass content and calculated its bullet count.  She raspfully whispered a query.

“So, who’s the other one for?”